Recently it seems I've seen a lot of blog posts and status updates about the sudden new-found hatred for a pet that comes, apparently inevitably, with bringing home a new baby. I admit I was pretty much feeling this way after I brought Scoops home. My dog, Opie, who was of course my first baby (and also my first dog, incidentally), was suddenly no longer a soft snuggly creature to be cuddled, but a disease-carrying vermin out to contaminate my helpless child. I shouldn't say "suddenly" because the feeling actually developed over a couple of weeks.
The first few poops and pees in the house were expected. His barking at the wind as soon as I finally got Scoops to sleep was pretty much a given. I wasn't even surprised when he stole one, then two, then three of Scoops' soft toys (my mistake for leaving them within his reach, but in my defense, baby came early, and mama didn't have time to finish the nursery). But when the behavior not only continued, but worsened over time, I quickly went from mild annoyance to absolute intolerance. I blame sleep deprivation, but then I've never been entirely patient by nature. Let's be honest, I was royally pissed to have to clean dog poop and/or pee off the stairs almost on the daily while trying to figure out the mystic marvels of breastfeeding, sleeping when the baby sleeps (seriously, does anyone do that?), decoding baby's cries, and actually eating a meal. I was even less thrilled when I returned to my half-eaten homemade meatball stew one night (seriously, the one time I bothered to cook a proper dinner) to find Opie had climbed on the table to finish it for me while I ran off to the nursery to change a poopy diaper. I let my overwhelmed self cry more than I would have pre-baby when, just a week after we brought Scoops home, we discovered Opie had fleas (keep in mind, first dog = first time dealing with fleas, and in my sleep-deprived head, it was the end of the world and we were all going to get The Plague from flea bites). But when the dog straight up growled and showed his teeth at Scoops, I just about lost it.
I may or may not have uttered some harsh words to poor Opes McGopes. Logically speaking I completely understood what was happening, and at the same time simply could NOT understand why he wouldn't stop acting out (aside from the fleas, which obviously weren't his fault, but certainly didn't improve my sentiments towards him). He really wasn't neglected. While my husband and I didn't always feed and walk him ourselves, and almost certainly not on the exact schedule to which our dog had been accustomed, we had countless family and friends who very graciously and lovingly fed, walked, and cuddled Mr. McGopes when we couldn't. We sought advice and tried various techniques to curb his bad behavior, but every time it seemed we'd turned a corner, he'd stare deep into our eyes and pee on the space heater, or the couch, or our shoes, as if to say "I know exactly what I'm doing, and yes, I'm still pissed you brought that whiney hairless puppy into our den."
Suffice it to say, I very seriously considered more than a few times calling any one of the several people who had offered during my pregnancy to take Opie off my hands if he ended up not getting along with the baby. (I think it's important to note I scoffed at ALL of them when they offered, because I adored my dog and had no doubts that he would in turn adore my baby.) Surely this qualified as not getting along with the baby, right? And yet I never called anyone. I most certainly continued to ask visitors to walk him, feed him, play with him, and snuggle him, but never asked anyone to take him home with them (at least not seriously). Why not? I don't honestly know. Maybe I felt that sending Opie away would mean I'd failed as a pet parent, and being a pet parent was supposed to have prepared me for being a people parent (ha!). Maybe I just didn't want to admit how absolutely hopeless I felt about the situation. Whatever the reason, I kept miserably awaiting the next bad behavior, quietly letting hatred for my dog take hold in my heart and grow. I felt very much alone, as I'm pretty sure even my husband didn't feel the same level of angst against Opie that I did.
And then, like magic, someone posted in an online forum about this very thing. Another new mom opened up and bravely asked the question I'd been dying to ask: Did any of you find yourself suddenly hating your pets after you brought your newborn home? She was honest, I might say at least somewhat apologetic, but boldly shared her story and feelings as pure fact.
The comments. Blew. Up.
Friends, I can honestly tell you, I don't think I've ever seen more judgement in a new-mom forum. Every other comment on this mom's post was in one of two camps; the yes-omg-thank-you-so-much-for-writing-this-I've-been-feeling-the-same-way camp, or the omg-you're-a-horrible-person-and-you-don't-deserve-your-pets-who-are-clearly-much-better-"people"-than-you-are camp. It was unnerving how many people wrote specifically to pass judgement on this mom and everyone else who agreed with or thanked her for opening up. There was shaming, and name-calling, and vile threats - the negativity was through the roof! No joke, I've seen nicer comments on posts from moms talking about how their kids were stressing them to the breaking point. Whatever solace I'd found initially by seeing the question posed was instantly erased when I realized how many people out there were horrified that anyone would feel, or admit to feeling, the way I and the author of the post did. One of the comments was from a veterinarian, who made such statements as "I hear pet owners in my practice say things like this, and it makes me sad because it's selfish," and "If you could just play with your pets for an extra 15 minutes every day..." Reading her comments, I almost felt personally attacked. Selfish? An extra 15 minutes every day? Lady, if you only knew the amounts of energy - mental, emotional, and otherwise - I've been pouring into rectifying this situation. Did I mention I'm trying to keep a newborn alive? I decided to keep my thoughts to myself after that. Clearly I was in the wrong, and needed to fix my selfish and wrong feelings about my dog.
More recently, however, I read this article by another mom who really opened up big time about her pet struggles post-baby. And then this one, which also echoed what I was feeling, and feeling ashamed for feeling, and the reader comments on both articles were excruciatingly vicious, just as they had been in that forum when I first saw this issue brought up. That first article I read, though, sparked something in me. Certainly it sparked enough to initiate a stronger desire for a change of heart, even if it didn't actually change my heart right away. I found myself in tears after reading it, not because I was angry at the author, but because I so wholly and purely sympathized with her. I saw my own reflection in her writing, and I didn't like what I saw. So I spontaneously began to pray for a change of heart. Tearfully, I asked for patience, tolerance, understanding, and generally to be a better pet parent. I kept reading about the issue, tried to avoid reading the nasty comments, and again found solace that I wasn't alone.
Then I found this article, and I felt a renewed sense of hope. It seems it is possible to love your dog again after bringing home a baby. And truthfully, I can attest to this. When I send up prayers of gratitude for my beautiful tiny daughter, my amazing and thoughtful husband, and my cozy little home, I send up a prayer of thanks for my dog, followed by the plea "make me a better pet parent." This desire alone I'm sure is responsible for my renewed sense of patience, and my rekindled love for my dog (although, I have to admit, I still don't always "like" him every day again - not yet). Most likely, falling into a regular sleeping pattern, and finding a rhythm to caring for my baby are both contributing to my improved emotional state as well.
I guess my point is not so much about loving my dog again as it is this: sometimes we decide to be brave and open up about our feelings, and we are met with judgement and shame. That doesn't mean your feelings are wrong, or that you're a bad person, or that you should never open up about your feelings. The way others react to you is a reflection on them, not on you. And sometimes we feel things we don't like or aren't proud of, and want to change. That desire for change is truly the most important part of the process! I promise you, the moment I said out loud and in earnest that I wanted to be a better pet parent, that I didn't want to feel any more negativity towards my dog, I started feeling better about the whole situation. And feeling better gave me the momentum I needed to start actually making positive changes and making my dog something of a priority again.
This journey with my dog has only started. Like everything else in life, I'm realizing quickly that we're still going to have bad days, or at least less-than-pleasant moments. It's a practice. I'm practicing patience, tolerance, and above all, LOVE, with my dog, my family, and myself. And I'm giving you the same permission I've given myself: to feel what you're feeling, express a desire for change, start making changes, and then continue to practice. No judgement. At least not from yourself, because you'll catch enough flack from the rest of the world. But try not to catch it. Try to let it just float on by as it's hurled in your direction, and continue to practice patience, practice tolerance, and practice love. Your pets, your family, and your own beautiful Self will thank you.
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